


Far from Florida and the Yukon

by swmbo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swmbo/pseuds/swmbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron's not the only one trying to lose himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far from Florida and the Yukon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annakovsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annakovsky/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I Am a Visitor Here, I Am Not Permanent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/94014) by [Annakovsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annakovsky/pseuds/Annakovsky). 



> A remix of Annakovsky's "I am a Vistor Here, I am not Permanent", for a mini-challenge. Read the brilliant original!

The music pulses through the club, loud enough that Dom can’t quite hear himself think. That had been the main reason for choosing the place to begin with, and it’d seemed like a good idea at the time. That pretty much described most of Dom’s ideas lately.

He glances down at his watch. The erratic lighting makes it difficult to read and Dom tilts the face a few times before giving up. It doesn’t really matter what the watch says, anyway – Dom already knows it’s half-past too late and his cell phone’s not going to be ringing with excuses any time soon. Lets face it, Billy’s got a life now and he doesn’t miss Dom, not like Dom misses him.

Oh, fuck it. He waves the bartender over. The music sucks and a headache’s beginning behind his eyes but the alcohol’s not watered and that makes up for a multitude of sins. He figures another three or four more and maybe he’ll stop trying to pick accents out of the crowd, stop feeling a shiver run down his spine every time he hears a faint burr.

When the stranger approaches him, Dom assesses and dismisses him in an instant. The guy’s too tall by far, his hair’s too red and even in the flickering light of the club Dom can tell that there’s no way he can pretend those eyes are the right shade of green. He takes another swallow, letting the alcohol burn a path down his throat, avoiding eye contact. Maybe the guy will catch the hint.

“Err…hi”. The voice is apologetic and Dom thinks about turning on the charm and signing a napkin before making an escape but fuck it if he could be bothered. If a bloke can’t even get stinking drunk in a nightclub without interference, there wasn’t much point of going on living.

“Suppose you want to know what Orlando’s really like?” Dom makes his tone sound bitchy as he swivels on the stool, glaring. Maybe it’ll put the guy off but Christ, he almost hopes that info on Orlando really is all the guy’s asking for. Because if the guy so much as mentions Billy, Dom’s going to come off this stool and choke the living hell out of him.

The guy’s just blinking at Dom now – maybe against the distracting flashes of light, or maybe he’s just not that bright. “Well…hot, I expect.”

Right. Not that bright, then. Dom slams the rest of his drink in self-defense. Maybe the alcohol will kill the moron germs before they can infect him. Although considering he was on his own in a gay bar in London after the fourth time Billy had cancelled on him in the last two months, it was probably already too late.

He slides off the stool, the taste of whiskey sour in his mouth. Maybe he still has a chance to make his escape before the damage is permanent.

“I mean, it’s in Florida, right?”

It takes a moment for the words to filter through the slight haze of alcohol and Dom just stops and stares, actually seeing the guy for the first time. Still too tall, still too red, but his skin is dusted with freckles and his hands are large and strong-looking and fuck, there’s not a chance in hell that his phone was going to be ringing any time soon. So he grabs on to the guy, hauling him forward by the back of his neck and kissing him hard.

The guy is taller than Dom is used to and he has to rise up on to the balls of his feet, hand clamped tight around the back of the guy’s neck. For a split second, he thinks maybe the guy really wasn’t interested, and then the mouth against his own parts and he’s kissing even harder, lips and tongue and teeth. The alcohol is swirling through his veins now, the air and lights hot, but the stranger’s mouth against his own is even hotter, and Dom’s breathing is ragged when he pulls away just far enough to make out the dazed look.

“Just for that, you get to take me home.”

“Oh. I…okay. Yeah. I just…I’m at, like this youth hostel, and…”

Too many words. Not enough fucking.

“Okay, my place.” Dom slides his hand down from the guy’s neck, making a small noise of approval as he feels the muscles shifting beneath his touch. The guy wasn’t as thin as he looked.

It doesn’t take but half a moment to hail a taxi and slide them both inside. The guy gasps out that his name is Ron and it’s reflexive politeness that makes Dom reply, because Dom’s a hell of a lot more interested in the way Ron’s eyes close when Dom palms his cock through his trousers, the way his mouth falls half-open until Dom has to lean forward and kiss him, biting Ron’s lower lip and kissing him harder with every whimper, every gasp.

It’s ten minutes and two centuries until they reach the hotel. Ron’s jumpy as they stumble inside and fuck, Dom hopes that it’s just the celebrity thing and the guy’s not going to turn out to be a virgin. He’s just about to ask when Ron sinks to his knees and Dom thanks God because if that mouth swallowing his cock belongs to a virgin, Dom’s joining a convent first thing tomorrow.

Dom tangles his fingers in Ron’s hair, wonders when it stopped being quite as red as he thought it was. Ron’s eyes are half-closed, his mouth soft and pink and it takes everything Dom has in him to pull away, pull Ron up and kiss him deeply, chasing the traces of his own whiskey with his tongue. He whispers “Bed” and doesn’t wait for a response before they’re both falling onto it in a pile of limbs and hot, sliding skin.

Dom can hear Ron saying something about lube and tries to be helpful, but it’s not easy when the guy doesn’t seem to be able to follow simple English. He gives up, rolling over and grabbing the lube and a condom himself. Licks his way down Ron’s throat, stomach, sucking slightly before rolling Ron over, running his hands along the pale muscles of his back, down the narrow ridge of his spine. Slides his hand beneath, curving it around Ron’s cock in long, slow pulls. Ron makes a small noise as Dom slowly pushes into him, and for a second he stops, worried, but then Ron’s pushing back against him and there’s nothing but the feel of the body moving beneath him, the taste of sweat gathering between shoulder blades and the almost wild cry Ron makes as he comes beneath Dom’s fingers.

Later, Dom stretches, smirking slightly. "Now you know what one joke about Orlando will get you. Just think if you'd joked about Elijah and Viggo as well."

Except it turns out that Ron doesn’t seem to have a fucking clue what he’s talking about, that or he’s a better actor than all of them combined. For a minute Dom thinks about worrying, because what if the guy’s an escaped loony? But he’s warm and relaxed and comfortable for the first time – hell, probably for the first time since filming ended. And if the guy’s going to murder him in his bed, at least Dom had gotten in a proper shag first. So he just pulls Ron closer to him, fingers tangling in Ron’s hair. It’s red, but it’s not too red at all.

Dom’s used to missing people. Used to missing Billy, who is always supposed to be at his side. Missing Elijah and Viggo and Orli, Bean – the list went on and on. But right now, at this instant, he’s not missing anyone at all.


End file.
